Waltzing with a Fallen Angel
by CarefulCaresses
Summary: Both were smart. Both knew facts the other didn't. Both needed to work together to get to the bottom of how Moriarty pulled his national prank. But only one was willing to find the answer. Sherlock is stuck with the only person that could bring his arch nemesis back into the ground and could give him the answers he needed that were pulling at his sanity.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. **

**This is a bit of a rewrite, but I'm liking this a lot better than the previous story posted. I hope you all enjoy and leave a review. Constructive feedback is my favorite. Enjoy!**

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Prologue

The ground pulsed under her feet as the smell of sweat and alcohol stung at her senses. It was a busy Friday night in the New York club and she, alongside a taller man, rushed behind the bar mixing drinks and making sure the male patrons were drunk enough to tip the Go-Go dancers flirting amongst the club.

Heath, her coworker, weaved around her, shirtless, with a pair of board shorts on and gym shoes. It was beach night, in the middle of December, and she also had to follow suit. She wore a blue bikini top and short, black board shorts that framed her butt. Both of them needed tips and if dressing in almost nothing meant that, then they would happily comply. Plus, the Go-Go dancers liked to hog the rich drunks that crowded the clubs while their wives attended formal parties.

"Hey, Beth!" called Heath.

The curly haired women looked over at her coworker. He gestured to three men at the very end of the bar. They looked oddly out of place. The middle man wore a three piece suit paired with a grey tie. His brown hair was swept to the side and he stared at her almost bored looking. The two men flanking him sat next silently wearing all black.

"Can you get them for me? I got to take a leak."

Beth nodded, finishing her Buttery Nipple for the already tipsy women in front of her. She smiled at her as she handed the customer her drink and the drunk giggled before murmuring something to her even tipsier friend.

The bartender shook her head, walking over to the men waiting at the end. She put on her flirtiest of smiles and let her boobs bounce as she made her way to them. This man looked rich even with the bored expression.

"Hi," she smiled at them three. "Would you like anything to drink? Beer? Wine? I could mix something up for you."

The calculating stare he gave her put her guard up immediately. She unconcously moved her engagement ring so that the diamond was under her palm.

"I was told," he began with a clear English accent waving in the air. A red flag went up in her mind by habit. "That I would find an Elizabeth Marie Moriarty working here." The DJ started scratching at his disc and he looked away for a moment. "I believe she goes by Beth in this setting, but Elizabeth in the school setting."

Beth bit her lip, her blue eye staring at the men before she grabbed three glasses and starting filling them with Boston Lager. "Will that be all?" she asked with a venomous glare. She hadn't dealt with many Englishmen since his death and that was in a different bar with an entirely different setting.

"When will she be off work?" he asked.

Beth hummed, biting back what she wanted to say. "I'm sure you already know that answer, sir."

The man took his beer as did his bodyguards and the three sipped at their drinks. The man gave pleasant smiled, placing his wallet on the bar in plain view. "We will wait here." He slipped two hundred dollars into her ringed hand. "Keep the change. I'm sure your friend will appreciate it," he gestured to Heath joining the bar.

"Who are you?" she inquired, taking the money and placing it in one of the tip stashes.

He smiled, gesturing cheers to her. "Mycroft Holmes. Your new boss."


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

Her file lay sprawled about on his coffee table and he stared at the contents with a critical eye. John sat in his chair, humming himself and looking over a discarded papers Sherlock had deemed unimportant. He needn't know about her past history as a stripper. In fact, the thought of someone doing that displeased him. But, Mrs. Hudson had done the same when she was younger, and the girl seemed to make a lot of money from it. He scanned her financials. There were three bank accounts in her name. One was a Swiss account that ranged in the seven figures while she had two smaller ones that he figured she used for schooling and other expenses.

"Isn't sixteen a bit young to start her past profession?" questioned Watson from his chair. He sipped at some tea Mrs. Hudson had brought up and flipped through more papers.

"The law said eighteen," answered Sherlock, sighing in annoyance. For two months he had been scowering the city and using his homeless network to track Moriarty's whereabouts. All he found were loose ends. No one had seen or heard from the man since his death. There was always the chance he was working from the grave. That possibility cross his mind many times and yet there were no links to him. This Beth was his only chance to figuring out if the man was dead or alive.

Sherlock looked at his skull on the fireplace, thinking back to that day. He had seen Moriarty put the gun in his mouth and shoot. Most movies would depict a huge blast and brain matter spewing about, but that was the contrary to reality. Just because there wasn't blood didn't mean he was dead.

Creaking footsteps waddled their way up the stairs and Sherlock glanced to see Mary walking into his apartment with a plate of biscuits in her hand. Her belly had swelled to the right size in her eight months being pregnant and the pride in John's eyes brought the twinkling of a smile onto Sherlock's face. He stilled wanted them to name her Sherlock, but he knew that would never happen.

"Any luck?" she asked with a beaming smiled. Sherlock moved and let her sit in his seat while he pinned some of the important papers onto his wall.

"Not really," John answered with a furrowed brow. "Sherlock won't know until he meets her."

"Do you think it's safe with her living here?" Mary asked while Sherlock turned. She snacked on her biscuit, wiping the crumbs off her lips.

"Perfectly," Sherlock answered, scanning one of the documents he wanted to pin. It read of her school history. She had graduated with top honors at her high school and went onto Yale in the honors college for Demolition Sciences. She was currently in the Graduate College working on a new bomb that leak out a perfumed steam. Her hypothesis, from what he read, was that it would allow the victims to inhale the gases quicker and fall asleep before detonation. So, he would be living with a soon to be international killer. How fun.

He pinned up her school history along with medical records. She had a history of anxiety that she soothed with exercise and food low in sugar. Her tonsils were removed at the age of fourteen due to numerous times of her contracting strep throat. A torn ACL when she had been in high school football, but had it repaired before going onto college levels.

"I wonder how many people knew about the stripping," John commented.

"None," said Sherlock, turning back to the two. They blinked at him. "A high school girl couldn't have let that secret out with all of her schooling and football career on the line. If you paid attention to the locations of her home address and her place of work it was an hour drive every other weekend." He went over to desk, taking a Nicotine patch and placing it on his arm. "That travel logs also show that whenever she did work it was when she didn't have a Saturday practice or tournament that weekend."

"Do you think her parents knew?" Mary asked, concerned. She took the paper from John and read the information while chewing on her treat.

"They died when she was thirteen and custody went to Jim," said Sherlock while peering out the window. A black car pulled up and he straightened his shirt. "Speak of the devil. She is here."

The two got up from their spots and rushed to the other window. Mycroft was the first to exit the car and the driver got out to open the trunk. Sherlock's brother opened his umbrella since it was raining and someone else joined him under the tiny shelter. All Sherlock could make out was the neon green Nike's and an arm come into view before disappearing under the umbrella. She was short. He could tell since Mycroft had shortened his stride slightly to keep her near him. The driver brought out three bags and he watched two armed ensheathed in the same neon green grab a two of them. He sighed as the driver pulled out another two and they walked towards the door.

"I like her shoes," Mary commented with a smile.

There was a knocking that echoed through the silent room and the sound of Mrs. Hudson humming towards the door. Mary and John rushed back to their seat and acted like nothing had happened while Sherlock fluidly moved back to his spot in front of the wall. He studied while listening to Mycroft introduce Elizabeth to his land lady.

"Oh goodness you are a looker," Mrs. Hudson greeted sweetly. "Come in. Don't be shy this is your home, too." There were more footsteps. "Sherlock! Your brother is here."

"I'm aware!" he shouted back before looking back at his wall. Didn't she realize he could hear?

"The bags go to the top floor, dear," he heard Hudson say to the driver. "You'll love it. It's a loft style."

This time, many footsteps walked up the stairs and Sherlock glanced over to see his brother leading a curling haired young woman. She wore that neon green jacket and shoes with a blank tank top and blank compression pants. He turned towards her, staring her down as she walked into his apartment.

Wealthy by the clothes and golden jewelry that adorned her neck and ears. The bags under her eyes suggested she was jet lagged and tired from their journey back. Her lips were stained with a lipstick that hadn't come off all the way. Possibly a lip stain. They were too red for a natural lip color. Mascara was smudged. She had cried at some point. Her posture was stiff and upright. Her nerves were getting to her by the tapping of her foot on the floor. He watched as her fingers twirled around and nonexistent ring on her ring finger. There was an indent where it had been taken off and her nails were chewed down to stubs. All of her anxiety was pouring out in front of him.

"Little brother," smiled Mycroft as he walked into the apartment. Mrs. Hudson led the driver up the stairs with the bags. "Elizabeth, this is Sherlock." He looked over to the two other occupants. "Mary and John. They will be faces you will see a lot."

"Nice to meet you," she said stiffly and eyed Mary's belly. Her eyes went to the wall next to Sherlock and widened a fraction before going back to her stoic gaze.

"Doubtful," Sherlock countered with his hands behind his back.

"Did you deduce that or was it so evident in my voice?" she questioned coldly.

"You were taken from your life, of course you aren't fond of the situation, but neither am I." He took a step towards her.

Mycroft stepped in. "Now, for this to work, we will need your full cooperation. I do not want another international terrorist threat on my hands."

Beth bit her lip, placing her two bags outside of Sherlock's living space. "You haven't left me any other choice." She crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame.

Mycroft tapped his umbrella, placing a hand in his pocket. "You are now a British citizen. So your chance of going back to the states after this will be unlikely."

She breathed in, seething with anger.

"And you knew that. You were smart and came willingly," he continued with a darker voice. "You will help Sherlock as much as you can or I can find ways to force you to do so. And you know I have that power." He nodded to Sherlock, Mary, and John before moving passed Beth and down the stairs with his driver in tow.

"Dick," she breathed, leaving the three and stomping up the stairs to her room.

Mary sighed, placing her hands on her belly and John looking at Sherlock with raised eyebrows.

Sherlock rustled his hair, gazing at his two friends. The game was on.

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So here is Chapter One. Please leave a review :)


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